He Can't Forget
by singingmylastgoodbye
Summary: He can't forget. He can't forgive. He's lost himself. Beck-centric / Bade / Mentions of themes such as rape and murder / One-shot / Please review, it means a lot.


He remembered the times when he knew what was coming next. When he knew exactly what the next turn in life would lead to, when he knew he would always have that one person by his side when things got rough.

But, she was gone now, had been for awhile. Three years to the date, she had left him and everyone else wondering what had gone wrong, wondering where things had taken a turn for the worse. It still hurt like hell, and everything, from the random, colorful, hair extension in his bathroom drawer, to the Jetbrew coffee shop on 25th, seemed to reopen the wound, as if she had died again.

* * *

No one could even begin to understand his pain, as he felt solely responsible for the death of the raven haired beauty. He could have stopped her from going out that night, she had asked him if he had minded whether she stayed home or went out for a girls night with Cat and Tori.

But, playing the good boyfriend card, told her that it was cool, that she should go out and have fun, he would watch Full House reruns and relax. She had happily obliged, giving him a quick peck on the lips, before turning to her stash of clothing in his RV closet.

Her clothes still hung there.

He had driven her to Tori's house that night, making minimal conversation during the short ride there, which he would regret later that very evening. He looked at her beautiful face and kissed her, not aware that would be the last night his lips would taste her warm, coffee and vanilla bean chapstick lips.

His heart had driven away from the Vega house in whole, only to return to the house the next morning, with his heart in unfixable pieces.

He remembered his phone buzzing at 3:28 AM, but he had shoved a pillow over his face and ignored the call. Only to find a voicemail from his girlfriend the next morning.

His mind would never forget the terror in her voice as she screamed at someone to stop, the pounding of her boots on sidewalk as she tried to run, then finally, the calmness in her voice as she whispered to him: "Save me."

He had listened to that voicemail countless times, his blood running cold every time. Finally, he had come to his senses and dialed 911.

They took his phone, the police. They said it was evidence or some made up shit that made him edge just that much closer to insanity. They would call his parents, asking if he would come talk to them about her, each time, he would shake his head no as fresh tears made their way down his cheeks and neck. But, a week after his call to the police, they called with more important news.

They had found her body.

This was when reality finally struck him. He broke, completely snapped. His mind shut down and his body went numb as sobs racked through his slack body and screams of despair rang from his mouth.

They called it rape and murder, had used her for his own pleasure than killed her, like the savage he is. It made front page news, everyone wanting to know who the monster was that committed this vile crime. Everyone was scared more than curious, scared for their teenage daughters that could fall into the hands of this murderer as well.

They had told him that she had put up one hell of a fight, which made him chuckle. Of course she would fight back hard, she probably fought to the death. Strangely, this made him feel the tiniest bit better, knowing that at least she wasn't easy prey for the guy. This bit of light was again shadowed when he realized that if he wasn't such a lazy ass and picked up the phone that night, she would probably still be at his side, holding his hand.

There was never a funeral for a few months, just a small memorial at school. Her parents had refused to lay her down for her final rest when the person who had caused all this pain and disaster was still at large, walking free when the love of his life was simply a cold corpse, a mess of black hair and pale skin.

76 days after he made the call, they caught him. His name was Ryan, a nearby college student.

21 days after they caught her killer, he was thrown into prison under rape and murder charges. He deserved to die in that cell, and he hoped that Ryan did die there, cold and alone.

11 days after Ryan was proven guilty to all charges, a new twist came out. That she had gone _willingly._ That she had had sex with this random kid, and got what was coming to her.

This made him angrier than he would ever get in his entire life. As he read the article about this specific topic, he had stood up, mind in a haze, and threw his coffee mug against the wall. It shattered against the wall with a satisfying smash. About five minutes and countless broken things later, he realized what he was doing.

Tears slipping from his beautiful brown eyes, he bent down to clean up the glass on the carpet.

He still sat there hours later, a disaster of blood and tears.

Eventually they had a funeral. It was open-casket.

He stood in line waiting to see her one last time. The familiar silent tears made tracks down his grim face. Finally, it was his turn. He walked up slowly, not quite sure whether he could handle this or not. The answer was obviously no, but he went anyway.

He didn't see her though. He saw bright makeup, straight black hair, and pasty gray skin. He wasn't seeing his girlfriend for the last time, he was seeing the girl everyone had wanted her to be.

He didn't take that very well.

"Are you fucking serious?" He screamed, turning, "That's not her, that's who you wanted her to be." His voice was cold and hard, making everyone in the room look at him. He took a little black velvet case out of his suit pocket and leaned over her, slipping the ring inside onto her delicate fingers. He had been expecting cold, but they were oh so lifeless, which only made him break out into sobs again.

He found that everyone behind him in line also didn't see her, they saw someone they didn't know.

What he didn't notice was how every person noticed the ring. One onyx stone set in a circle of diamonds. It was so _her._

"I'm so sorry." He had whispered to no one but the lifeless corpse set across the room, surrounded by black roses. He walked up to the mahogany casket one last time, and set a single white rose down, on top of the pile of black roses that everybody thought she would have loved. "No matter how dark everyone thought you were, I knew you, and you were the brightest person I knew."

Everyone stared as he uttered a final goodbye, turned on his heel, and walked right out of that funeral that was supposed to represent her. No one knew just how wrong they got her, and how little they knew about that one talented, blunt, seventeen year old.

* * *

Still, three years later, he has her picture on her bedside stand.

Still, three years later, Beck Oliver hasn't forgiven himself for letting his Jade West get out of that car.


End file.
